Chapter Twelve
When Amy awoke the morning after Vauxhall, the sun was surprisingly bright and the sky an unusually clear shade of blue. Her breakfast chocolate was delicious as well. The song of the sparrows on her window sill was so delightful that she raised the sash and rewarded them with the last of the crumbs from her toast. Fortunately, she was too practical to mistake the reason for her euphoria.
Benjamin Lovell had kissed her.
It had been almost three years since the last time she’d been kissed. Was that long enough to forget how it had felt? She remembered those early kisses as awkward, wet and messy. When her beaus had felt confident enough to risk a caress, she had been more annoyed by it than aroused. They always seemed to be holding her too tight, or not tightly enough.
And to a man, they had seemed to enjoy the whole thing more than she had. They’d sighed and moaned, and swore that they would not eat or sleep until next they held her in their arms.
In return, she’d felt nothing in particular. She had grown good at dissembling, for it hardly seemed polite to tell them she felt no matching ardour. If she was doing it wrong, she had no intention of admitting her ignorance. But in the end, she had come to the conclusion that when it came to love, men were actually the more flighty and fanciful of the sexes. To spare their masculine pride, women pretended to have the more sensitive feelings and the delicate and easily broken hearts. It certainly seemed that the men who courted her were genuinely disappointed when she refused their offers.
But what else could she do? She had found no real favourite amongst them and she did not think she could abide an entire life pretending to more than she felt for any of them. And there was always Belle and her future to consider.
Then she had kissed and been kissed by Benjamin Lovell. Had she been overly vulnerable because she was so used to handling all problems herself that she had forgotten what it was like to lean on anyone? Was it because he was a much more handsome rescuer than her previous suitors had been? Was it the masterful way he had come to her aid when Belle had disappeared, stunning her to reticence and taking control? For the first few minutes she could do little more than allow him to lead her about the park, searching crowds and questioning strangers. Sensing how frightened she was, he had teased her until she regained her nerve. Then, when they had found Belle in a compromising situation, he had sworn to keep her secret. She had needed a hero. And when she had turned to him, she’d found no sign of the unfeeling social climber she had overheard at Almack’s.
Was it the combination of all those things that had made their need so immediate and mutual when, at last, they were alone together in the dark? As they had been in the cupboard at the musicale, his kisses had been so rapturous, his so touch possessive, her body had tingled, even in the places he was not kissing.
With other men, she’d always ended things before they got out of hand and demanded a return to the lights of the pavilion. But last night, if Mr Lovell had asked her to lay down in the grass and submit that instant, she’d have done it without a thought. She’d had to depend on his clear head to rescue her from disaster. He had been the perfect blend of gentleman and rogue. In the space of an hour, she was undone and happy to be so.
What was he thinking today? She doubted he was dancing around his rooms as she had done earlier and laughing over nothing. But she hoped that he was thinking of her and smiling as he did. Perhaps he was contemplating their next meeting. And maybe, just maybe, he was planning to call on her, to take her driving, or for a walk in Kensington Gardens.
She was infatuated. She had been so before, when she was a silly young girl. It would pass, in time, like a cold or a mild influenza. Passionate arousal was an unfamiliar and possibly new symptom. But as long as she did not explore any more dark, secluded spaces with him, she would survive it as well.
But suppose it was something more?
It was probably not. She did not have the time or the desire to fall in love. Nor had Mr Lovell given her reason to hope. He had not even offered the use of his first name. She absolutely refused to fall in love and allow her heart to be broken by his uninterest.
If anyone was going to fall in love first, it should be him. Then, if she felt so inclined, she would love him in return.